


All We Are

by Ramblin_Writer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Destiel - Freeform, Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Mutation, Post Apocalypse, Puppets, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 02:58:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramblin_Writer/pseuds/Ramblin_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel had lived in the carnival. Always. The Puppetmaster had made him to watch over it. It was his job. It's been years since anyone visited and the place is falling apart around him, his hopes wavering, when he meets Dean Winchester. He'd rolled up in his big, black, beast of a car that roared like the roller coasters that Castiel remembered from when he'd been younger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All We Are

**Author's Note:**

> Sidenote: Set in a fantasy post-apocalypse world. Magic could be used by some, though the “demons” and “hellhounds” were results of a virus (Leviathan) that mutated humanity. People quit going to the carnival because the disease got worse and the war against it was won. Sam and Dean are hunting down the last “demons” and “hellhounds.”

Castiel remembers darkness at first. He remembers the way his strings were pulled and manipulated to lift his cupped hands to his face. He remembers the slide of his eyes as they fell into place. He remembers seeing the carnival for the first time, frozen, even as the Puppetmaster pulled at his strings.

The carnival had been beautiful, paint bright and vibrant, lights flashing merrily. There was a buzzing, crowds talking and the occasional squeal or scream of joy (or fear) from the rides. Everything moved smoothly and the paths were smooth, grass and trees were green. The sun was high and cheery in the blue sky.

Castiel loved it.

So did the Puppetmaster.

Castiel wasn’t very good at first, at the job the Puppetmaster gave him, so the Puppetmaster controlled his strings until he understood. He was to watch over the carnival and welcome people with a smile upon perfectly sculpted full lips. He was to wait on them in slacks, a light blue button-up with a waistcoat, his blue bow-tie perfectly tied and shoes shined.

Castiel was good at his job and eventually the Puppetmaster quit guiding his strings. He let Castiel work independently, made sure that the fair was safe for visitors, closing the gates and keeping out the “bad things.” The Puppetmaster never told him what they were. Castiel would eventually find out on his own.

The carnival ran for years and Castiel enjoyed his job, taking care of the humans happily. He loved his home, but eventually people quit coming as often. Castiel had thought they were doing something wrong at first. He had asked the Puppetmaster what he could to make it right and the old man had just looked at him sadly. Said his powers were waning. Castiel wasn’t sure what he had meant then.

Castiel had watched as the carnival, his home, slowly died. People came less and less, the rides began to peel paint, and Castiel couldn’t repair the Puppet master’s fences around the carnivals perimeter fast enough as the humans working for the carnival quit and left. The Puppetmaster finally tugged at his strings and told him to let go.

Castiel couldn’t.

He fought to keep his home. It didn’t work, though, but the Puppetmaster stayed. He stayed with Castiel after the left and when the tear happened the fence. He stayed when Castiel couldn’t fix it. Because Castiel was his favorite. Castiel had stopped then. He retreated to the old dingy stage, wood floor rotting out. He sat with the Puppetmaster, sat in his lap. He let the old man hold him like a he would a child, taking comfort from warm arms around him, while their small world came to an end.

The demons crept in, eyeless faces twisted in never-ending anger. Their mouths were open in grimacing smiles, stink from their black ooze drifting on their breaths, stifling the cotton candy’s sweetness. Hellhounds followed them, bony paws clicking over the cracked pathways. It became Hell.

The Puppetmaster died that night.

He was cold.

It was the first time Castiel cried.

 

* * *

 

 

That was years ago. Castiel since had wandered around the carnival, almost lost. He would leave if he could, but his strings would not break and he was afraid of what would happen when they did. Would be become a limp rag doll? Castiel didn’t know, but he was sure that the reason he was stuck in the carnival because it still struggled to life every night.

Castiel wished the rides would stop, that the carnival would just end. It clawed its way to false life every night, the lights flickering and popping, sparking, most paint gone, rust and rotted wood groaning under the movements of machines. Castiel wanted to leave.

It was not a foolish dream, Castiel thought, to be able to leave this place and get away in the world, to see sunshine again and enjoy it. Castiel though perhaps maybe that is what the Puppetmaster would want for him. (At least, he tried to convince himself of that.) Castiel would never know. Most nights he would perch on the roller coaster’s very top, on the incline, ignoring the howling and laughing creatures below. They could not hurt him. He was not human.

Castiel fought the once, but slowed and then stopped altogether when he realized there was nothing to fight for. He had nothing. Not even the fair could be fixed at this point. He only had his hopes and most days those began to falter, too.

So Castiel began to practice expressions and gestures that he’d seen humans make, until he was able to keep a straight face without looking lost or sad, plush lips in a firm line. Most people would call the expression severe. Castiel found it became normalcy. (He rarely practiced with his voice or words, but when the night was quiet, when even the demons were silent, he filled the air with melodies, with words woven as they left his mouth.)

He found that walking through the carnival’s overgrown paths was normalcy as well. The demons and hellhounds ignored him because he had no smell, not that appealed to them, anyway. He was of magic, nothing more. They could not eat him, so they found no reason to be interested. I mean, why would they be? Castiel would even sometimes get close just to watch the demons laugh hysterically at something he couldn’t understand or see, hellhounds fighting among themselves.

Sometimes Castiel would hide. He’d find secret places, like where the roller coaster tracks crossed at the bottom and created a small cage-like area. He’d stay there and sit, echoes of what once was joy ringing in his ears, eyes distant and almost empty.

Today was not one of those days, though, and he’d perched on one of the old stands. Castiel was sure that it was the cotton candy stand, but the sign was so grimy and faded that he couldn’t tell. He sat on the counter, looking up at the sky, watching the sun go down. The sun let go and slipped below the horizon as the carnival slowly clamored to life and the mutants, the demons and hellhounds, came out. He did not move, staying silent and still, eyes on the now dark sky, as bony, clicking paw steps passed in front of him along with the creak of ruined joints.

There was a commotion, however, when bright lights suddenly into view. The demons scattered and hellhounds fled as the roar of an engine – like that of their largest ride when it was new – cut through the night that usually was only unbroken by unnatural sounds.

Castiel’s gaze snapped from the sky to the old, gnarled, rusted gate. It was crumbling under the weight of the reality that now pressed on it. He felt what could have been a heart quiver in his chest. (Perhaps with hope.) Had someone finally come?

The sound of thudding car doors had him scrambling off the stand, hurrying to the front of the carnival. He waited, twitching, turning glares on the mutants, sending them slinking away, if they had not already run from the sounds. He did not dare blink as he peeked from around another old stand, watching as the gates were forced open, rough voices muttering muffled curses that had a nervous undertone to them.

Had they brought weapons? Without them, they may be doomed…

Castiel did the good thing. (He hoped.) He did his job. He took a deep breath and walked out, standing and waiting for the men to reach him.

“Hello.”

Castiel is surprised. His voice is much rougher than he remembered and he didn’t know what to do, ending up ‘clearing his throat.’ (Castiel doesn’t even remember the last time he voiced a melody, lifted his voice in song, or even just talked to himself… It’d been a while.)

“Welcome to Zion, Sanctuary and Carnival.”  Castiel’s smile falls because the men are wide-eyed, looking down at him in shock. He stands from the slight bow he’d taken.

“We are… overrun. I cannot promise you safety here as I used to.” He admits, brows drawing together in worry as the men continue to stare blankly. Finally the shorter, green eyed on turned to the taller one.

“What the fuck? I thought you said this was a Goddamn nest, Sam.” Castiel is shocked by the growl in his voice. It reminds him of angry, moody hellhounds. He looks between the humans, bewildered.

“A nest?”  His voice is small, worried. What were these men speaking about?

He doesn’t understand. It reminds him of the night that the Puppetmaster slipped away and left him without any idea of what to do.

And it terrifies him.

This is not how he wanted it to go at all.

 


End file.
